


The Way Home

by Sarahtoo



Series: Phrack Fucking Friday [3]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, PWP, Phrack Fucking Friday, Porn With Plot, pff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-07
Updated: 2016-10-07
Packaged: 2018-08-19 23:53:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8229052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarahtoo/pseuds/Sarahtoo
Summary: A follow-up to Fire_Sign’s gorgeous More Sharp than Filèd Steel. For the record, that fic was a story I begged her to write while she was working on Shark Arm (aka Strange Capers). In Capers, Jack didn’t follow Phryne, and it all went to hell. Fire_Sign was kind enough to make a version where Jack did go after Phryne; unfortunately, as she was writing, she left out the smut. So here you go. I fixed it. ♥





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fire_Sign](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Sign/gifts).



It had been almost six weeks of spending nearly every moment of every day in close quarters with one Detective Inspector Jack Robinson, and Phryne Fisher was ready to scream with frustration. She stood at the railing of _Strathnaver_ , the newest addition to P&O’s fleet of luxury cruise ships, as they began the turn into the Victory Bight, approaching Melbourne. Jack stood beside her, his shoulder bumping hers companionably; every innocent touch sent darts of arousal through her, but she tried to distract herself by thinking of the journey that had gotten them here.

They’d made the decision—and she still believed that it was the right decision—to hold off on any romantic entanglement until they returned home. She’d left Melbourne in her little Tiger Moth just over a year before, in September of 1929, flying her good-for-nothing father back to his own life in London. With the economic collapse and the way he’d left the estate, it had taken all of that time for Phryne, whose business acumen was considerably more reliable than Henry’s, to salvage what she could so that her father’s tenants—and her parents themselves—would be financially taken care of.

When Jack had come to fetch her—no, that was unfair. He’d come to London at the behest of her Melbourne family to be her strong right arm, a friend in her time of trial. When she got past her anger at his arrival—she’d explicitly told him not to come, after all—she’d been thankful for his presence. His steady presence had helped stop the downward spiral of worry she’d fallen into so that she could her find her feet and a way to leave her parents’ troubles behind. And he’d managed to do it without telling her what to do or how to fix what was broken. Dear Jack. He very obviously trusted that she knew what she was doing, and that trust had helped her to balance. She hadn’t _needed_ him, exactly, but he had helped.

He’d stayed for the ten days it had taken to finally get a handle on her parents’ finances; he’d amused himself by day, wandering the countryside on a borrowed bicycle and meeting her for dinner and conversation at the end of her long day. Some days, knowing that he’d be there to talk to at the table was the only thing that made the hours bearable.

They’d boarded the _Strathnaver_ together, steaming toward Melbourne, on a Tuesday. As they’d stood at the rail, watching England get smaller and smaller—both of them wishing it good riddance—they talked. About everything, about nothing. The discussion about _them_ , about where their friendship was headed came slowly, drawn out like pulled taffy. They’d decided, in the kind of sideways conversation that they excelled at, to rebuild their friendship before they tried for anything else. They’d give themselves the gift of the six weeks of this voyage as platonic companions and they wouldn’t attempt to step into a romantic entanglement until they returned to Melbourne—if then.

The first two weeks had been glorious. They’d spent all of their waking hours together, talking over old cases they’d worked together or apart, catching up on what Phryne’s Melbourne family had gotten up to in her absence, and discussing literature and poetry and art. Jack was an undemanding companion; though he’d challenge her opinions, he was easy to be with. On the days the ship had docked for refueling and restocking, he would explore the port cities with her, always willing to try some exotic snack or duck into a temple or shop. He carried her parcels without complaint—well, without much complaint anyway, and she had to admit she’d purposely purchased a few items just to hear him grouse about carrying them—and he hadn’t complained about the time she spent viewing silks or ivories or whatever other local product caught her eye.

By the third week, however, Phryne was beginning to feel the same tug of attraction that she’d felt in Jack’s company when they’d been in Melbourne. More than a tug, really. She couldn’t remember when she’d wanted a man more. The years of their friendship seemed to layer on top of her appreciation for his physical attributes to make her body light up the moment she was in his presence.

She’d considered the option of sating that need with someone else on board the ship, but it didn’t feel right; she didn’t want the possibility of an awkward post-coital encounter, especially with Jack by her side. Beyond that, though, the simple fact was that there weren’t any other passengers who tempted her. So she’d waited, easing her own tension as the days and nights went on with Jack being so very calm and reasonable and handsome and smelling so good it ought to be illegal…

Phryne shook her head. As for Jack, she couldn’t say that she was certain he felt the pressure of arousal as well—he didn’t treat her any differently now than he had in London, or than he had back in Melbourne. Somehow, despite the lack of evidence, she didn’t doubt that he still wanted her. Particularly in the past few days, though, she’d caught him watching her at odd moments—laughing with one of their dinner partners, dancing in the lounge, walking along the deck. She was certain she wasn’t imagining the heat in his eyes, but she’d held back.

This tension was good, she reassured herself, even if it was beginning to feel like the most delicious kind of torture. It felt like they were accelerating down a path similar to the one they’d taken beginning in Lydia Andrews’ bathroom and culminating in a kiss stolen while standing in an airfield. Their bodies and minds were remembering the way they’d felt after working together for so long—the year they’d been apart had suppressed those feelings but hadn’t killed them, and after six weeks of each other’s almost constant company, she felt as if she had almost reached the fever pitch of those final days before she’d flown to London.

And as grateful as she was for Jack’s presence by her side in friendship, she was as eager to get to Melbourne so that she could have his presence by her side in bed. Because that was where they were headed, she was certain of it, and she could hardly wait. In fact, as they stood side by side while they watched as the ship pulled slowly past the entrance to Port Phillip Bay, she breathed him in and realized that she didn’t want to wait any longer. She was certain that this—that _he_ —was what she wanted.

“Almost home,” she remarked, shifting subtly closer to Jack. “Queenscliff’s over that way.”

Jack nodded. “I have fond memories of that town.”

“Fond memories?” Phryne said archly, though she had some fond memories of her own. “Of a rather horrible murder investigation?”

“True, it was that,” Jack seemed to consider before slanting a glance at her, his mouth quirking in that sideways smile that still gave her butterflies. “But the company was exceptional.” He tilted his body to face hers as he had under the dock on that long-ago summer day, and Phryne couldn’t help but smile at him.

“Melbourne proper is straight ahead,” she said casually, leaning her shoulder lightly into his chest.

“We’ll probably be there in a couple of hours,” he replied, his eyes on hers. He rested a hand on the small of her back, and she felt a tingle at the warmth of his touch.

“I’d bet that everyone will be at the docks to greet us when the ship arrives.”

“Undoubtedly.”

“And there will be a welcome-home party.”

“Likely lots of people crowding your parlor this evening, Miss Fisher.”

“It seems to me that if we’re expected to socialize late into the evening, it might be prudent to rest in this last short stretch before we arrive.” She looked up at him from under her lashes, willing him to understand her meaning.

He tilted his head at her, his blue eyes twinkling. “Rest? In our cabins?”

“Well,” she drawled, turning to face him, her hand reaching to trace the lapel of his suit jacket. “In _a_ cabin, anyway.” She looked up at him, her own smile cheeky. “We’re almost to Melbourne, Jack.”

“So we are.” He turned farther toward her, resting his elbow on the railing and lifting his hand to toy with the ends of the loose, gauzy bow at the neckline of her blouse. “And we did have an agreement, didn’t we?”

“We did.”

“It seems to me that we’ve upheld the spirit of that agreement rather well. Would you agree?”

“Oh, absolutely, Jack.” Her hand slid under the edge of his lapel to rest on his waistcoat, toying with his buttons.

“And if we were to… anticipate our arrival, no one could fault us,” his voice had lowered from its usual register to what was almost a growl; his arm on the rail slid toward her slightly and he spread his hand against her waist, his thumb stroking lightly against her ribs.

“Definitely not, Jack,” she breathed, turning to step just a little bit closer, her hand coming up to wrap around his bicep where he held her waist.

“Are you sure, Phryne?” His eyes searched hers.

“I’ve never been more certain of anything,” she said, holding his gaze. She willed him to believe her, and it seemed he did. His smile spread from his eyes to tilt his lips at the edges and sharpen his cheekbones. She knew that no one else, looking at him, would see just how pleased he was by her answer.

“Perhaps a rest is in order, then.” He pulled lightly at her bow, loosening it.

“Excellent idea,” she agreed, reaching to grasp his hand where it stroked the fabric of her bow. “My cabin is very comfortable, if you’d like to join me there?” She could feel the heat of him through the many layers of his suit and her clothing, and she felt the desire that had been smoldering in her belly for weeks _whoosh_ into flame.

He nodded again, his eyes on her lips.

“Give me a head start?”

His smile flashed. “As always.”

Sliding her hand down his arm, she stepped away, her fingers trailing over his. As she walked away, she glanced back at him. He had turned back to look out over the water, both hands gripping the rail tightly. With a smile, she hurried down the corridor to prepare herself.

*****

Jack stood before Phryne’s cabin door, his heart in his throat, his stomach fluttering, and his cock hardening at the idea that he and Phryne were about to take the step that he’d been wanting for ages. He’d missed her terribly while she was in England, and though he’d managed to continue his duties—not an easy task after she’d told him not to come after all—he’d done so with a hollowness inside him. When her family had asked him to be the one to go after her, he’d jumped at the chance. He’d been thrilled to have the chance to see her again, even if she’d be angry with him.

He’d resigned himself on the way to England that his arrival might break whatever friendship they had left, but he had told her the truth—he could not bear to know that she was unhappy and do nothing about it. He’d hoped that in the year since she’d left, his feelings for her would have dimmed, but when he’d seen her in the entryway of her parents’ home, furious and beautiful with it, he’d known that hope was in vain. He was still very much in love with her, and he wanted to take that feeling and give it to her in any way that she’d let him.

The six weeks of this voyage had been both heavenly and hellish—it had been wonderful to spend his waking hours with her, with nothing to do but relearn who each other was. He’d half-expected her to beg off for an evening or several to avail herself of the young men on board the ship, but she hadn’t. And it didn’t matter really. Even if she had taken someone else to her bed, he’d still be standing here today, ready to be her lover for as long as she’d have him. He hoped it’d be forever, or as close as they could get to it.

He raised one hand and knocked lightly; the door swung open immediately, as if she’d been standing just on the other side. She was as beautiful as always, her cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkling. She’d removed her lipstick, and she wore one of her embroidered silk robes, this one in a vivid red covered in pink and yellow flowers. He remembered it from the time he’d been in her boudoir to save her from a rampaging arachnid, and the thought made him smile.

“Hello, Jack,” she said, her voice soft. The smile she wore was welcoming and slightly shy.

“Miss Fisher.” He felt his lips curve. “May I come in?”

“Oh, I hope you will,” she retorted, stepping back to let him enter.

Jack had declined to come into her rooms during the voyage, though she’d offered him a nightcap more than once. He’d known that it was far too private a place for his self-control; he congratulated himself on his foresight as he stepped in and took a deep breath, his eyes fluttering momentarily closed. The room smelled of her perfume the way that her boudoir did, and he licked his lips, swallowing hard.

Phryne’s cabin was much more luxurious than his—he’d insisted on paying his own way, and as a result, his cabin was one room hardly larger than the width of his single bed, and he shared a bathroom with a dozen other cabins on his deck. Her space was completely different. Phryne had a sitting room, complete with couch and bar, and an open door to one side showed the foot of a wide bed covered in deep green. He was fairly certain she had a private bath as well.

“This is a lovely—” He turned to look at her as he spoke, and his mouth went dry. His cock leapt to attention, hardening in a rush at the sight before him.

She stood just inside the door, her red robe pooling around her feet and every inch of her skin on display. Jack froze as he saw up close what he’d seen from a distance during her fan dance, and more—her skin was smooth as porcelain, with a dusting of golden freckles over her shoulders and the base of her neck. Her breasts, small but perfectly formed, were tipped with pale pink nipples that hardened under the heat of his gaze. The curves of her waist and hips seemed perfectly made for his hands, and the thatch of black hair at the juncture of her thighs called attention to the creaminess of her pale legs.

“Phryne…” His whisper was both reverent and lustful, and he stepped close to place his hands on her hips. “Phryne,” he said again, dipping his head to kiss her.

Phryne’s hands slid up his arms to his shoulders, tucking beneath the collar of his jacket to push it backward and to the floor even as she kissed him back. She stepped in to him, moving him backward across the room as her hands busily divested him of first his waistcoat, then his tie, dropping each piece of his suit as she guided him toward her bedroom.

With a groan, he tore his mouth away and turned, grabbing her hand and pulling her through the doorway. He swung her around to the bed, kissing her again, his hands roaming over her skin.

“Jack,” she whispered, pulling away to focus on her hands on the buttons of his shirt.

He bent, tugging off his shoes and socks, and she rubbed her fingers along the short hair at the base of his skull. Straightening, he pressed his lips to her belly and then trailed them up the center of her body before detouring to one side to trace her nipple with his tongue.

*****

Phryne cried out and shoved her hands inside the collar of his shirt, pushing at it, wanting his skin against hers.

“Please,” she whimpered, as he lifted his hand to her other breast, cupping his big palm beneath it. She could feel the slight roughness of his fingertips as he rolled her nipple gently, and her hands dug into the muscles of his back at the sensation. He switched breasts, his arm sliding around her waist as he licked her nipple into his mouth and began to suckle strongly.

“Jack!” Phryne threw her head back, the pleasure of his touch shooting through her muscles.

With a grunt, Jack lifted her and laid her on the bed. He stepped back and Phryne watched, mesmerized, as he stripped off the rest of his clothing. His hair was mussed, flopping over his forehead, and his lips were reddened and slightly swollen from her kisses; the color was high in his cheeks, and his eyebrows drew together in determined concentration as he unfastened his cufflinks, tucking them tidily in his trouser pocket. He pulled his braces off of his shoulders and his shirt up and over his head, not even bothering to finish unbuttoning it. His chest, covered only in a simple white singlet, was broad and muscled; in a moment, even that covering was gone, and Phryne raised herself to her knees, reaching out to run a hand over the flat plane of his stomach.

When his hands fell to his waistband, she leaned forward to press her mouth over his nipple, licking it delicately, and then suckling—he sucked in a harsh breath and his hands faltered.

“Let me,” she said, covering his hands with hers. Lifting her head, she kissed him, her tongue sliding between his lips as he cupped one hand around the back of her head.

Deftly, Phryne unfastened his trousers, then slid inside to push them and his smalls down and off his body. With his free hand, he helped, and she took the opportunity to wrap her hands around his cock.

He was large—she’d hoped the size of his hands had been an indication of that, but it wasn’t a sure thing—thick and long and hard, with veins tracing his length and a broad mushroom-shaped head that was slick with his excitement. She rubbed one palm over his head, spreading those juices, and grasped him with her other, noting with excitement that her fingertips didn’t touch her thumb as she encircled him.

Jack lifted a knee to join her on the bed and she scooted backward, not letting go of his cock as she moved. Phryne could feel her own juices flowing, and as soon as Jack had climbed all the way onto the bed, she climbed him. Anchoring herself with a hand around the back of his neck, she wrapped her legs around his waist, guiding his cock to the entrance of her body.

“Phryne, god,” he moaned, wrapping his arms around her. He lifted her, helping her center herself and him, and then relaxed his muscles, letting her slowly glide down until he was fully seated inside her. She buried her face in his neck, breathing in his scent; she swallowed hard against the lump in her throat—she felt as if she’d finally come home, regardless of the weeks they’d spent traveling. She felt his lips against her temple as they held there, their bodies still.

“Phryne.” His voice was a hoarse whisper against her cheekbone, and he tightened his arms around her. “You feel so good…”

“Jack,” Phryne said quietly, her hand on his neck tunnelling up into his hair to hold him close and her other arm wrapping around his shoulders. “My Jack.”

Jack’s breath caught, and he dipped his head to press his mouth to hers, his tongue spearing into her mouth. She lifted her head, her eyes drifting closed as she concentrated on the taste of him. He curled his hips slightly to press up into her, and she could feel his stomach muscles contract. The additional pressure made her gasp with pleasure.

Jack slid his hands down her back to grip her buttocks, and his biceps flexed against her as he lifted her slightly, then guided her gently back downward. Phryne helped, pressing her feet flat against the mattress and flexing her thighs to echo the slow motions.

“Why did we wait so long?” She breathed the words against his cheek, her eyes fluttering closed at the feel of his cock moving within her.

“Responsible… friendship… something like that anyway.” His voice was low and hoarse, trailing down her body; as her breast passed his mouth, he licked it lightly, sending shivers over her skin.

“So much time wasted,” she moaned, her head lolling back as her focus narrowed to the slow movements of their bodies.

On a groan, Jack muttered, “I suppose we’ll just have to make up for it,” and pushed himself up to lay her backward on the bed, covering her body with his. Planting his knees, he lengthened his strokes, pulling back until only the head of his cock was inside her, then slowly pushing back in.

Phryne moved both hands into his hair, pulling his mouth to hers, her tongue diving between his lips as he continued his slow fucking.

*****

Jack responded eagerly to Phryne’s kiss. He couldn’t get enough of her—her taste, the way her skin smelled, the wet velvet feel of her around his cock. He felt as if he was gorging on her; as if their long, enforced “courtship” had starved him for her touch.

Her hands clenched in his hair—the sensation sent pulses directly to his groin—and then loosened. She trailed her fingers down, tracing the edge of his ear before stroking his earlobe; that too sent a shudder through him, and he raised his head to meet her laughing eyes. As he looked at her, the movements of his hips began to accellerate—he couldn’t help it; her lips were swollen from his kisses, her eyes half-closed in pleasure.

He stroked a hand up her side to cup her breast and was transfixed by the sight of his skin, tanned from sun and work, against the clear pale blush of hers. He closed his hand around her breast, holding her nipple against the webbing between thumb and forefinger. It was a darker pink than the rest of her skin—the same color as her lips—and ripe as a berry.

“Beautiful,” he groaned as he lowered his head to take that tempting nipple into his mouth.

“So good, Jack,” she moaned. Phryne arched against him and lifted one leg to loop it around his waist, her heel digging into his thigh. One of her hands was grasping at his shoulder now, and the other had trailed down to his chest, her fingers toying with his nipple.

Jack lifted his head from her breast and shifted his hips, centering himself; Phryne lifted her other leg up to join the first, and he planted his hands on the mattress beside her shoulders. She stroked both hands around to grasp his shoulders from behind as he began to thrust more deeply, making each motion of his hips smooth and steady. He kept his eyes on her face as he moved within her, watching the way her expression changed with each adjustment of his angle.

Her mouth was open slightly, and her head tilted back as she strained against him. He watched her pulse pound against the skin of her throat and saw the tendon there go taut; he clenched his jaw against the urge to bend down and close his teeth around it.

“Ah, yes…” she hissed, and Jack repeated the motion that had drawn the words from her. He watched as she writhed beneath him, feeling her fingernails dig into his skin in a pinch that heightened the pleasure of each slow motion in and out.

He shifted, letting himself down to rest on his elbows so that his chest rested against hers, her nipples biting into his skin. He could feel his stomach brushing hers with each thrust; the sensation struck him oddly, seeming even more intimate for a moment than the slide of his cock within her. Phryne stroked both hands down his back until she was palming his ass, her fingers pressing into his flesh. She lifted her mouth to his; Jack kissed her, his hips slowing to a soft pulsing motion, and Phryne pushed back against him, circling her hips to press her clitoris against him. Jack tilted himself to one side and stroked a hand down from her shoulder to burrow between them and add a circular pressure of his own against her sensitive bud, loving the sensation of her flesh slipping against his fingertips.

When he began to move against her again, Phryne gasped and arched, her head falling back onto the pillows, a keening noise beginning in the back of her throat. Jack slid his mouth down her long throat, trailing his teeth along the tendon that had tempted him earlier. He tried to say her name but it sounded more like a groan as he fastened his mouth against the juncture of her neck and shoulder, sucking lightly at her skin.

Phryne came with a wail, her body seizing around him, the strong pulses of her climax rippling against his cock, her legs pulling tight against his waist and her fingers digging into his shoulders. Jack continued to pulse his fingers against her clit as she shook through the aftershocks, managing another half-dozen thrusts before his orgasm overtook him. He shouted his release against her soft flesh, pushing inside her deep and hard as he came.

*****

They stayed that way, joined and wrapped around each other, for long minutes. Eventually, Jack rolled to one side, pulling Phryne with him to drape over his chest, their bodies still connected. She dropped a kiss to his chest and laid her cheek over his heart, listening as its racing steadied to a warm thumping beneath her ear.

“Jack?” She traced designs across the skin of his chest, her eyes tracking the way the light furring of hair between his nipples moved with her breath.

“Mmm?”

“I can’t say that I’m sorry we waited so long to do that, but I do hope it won’t be long before we can do it again.” She smiled as she listened to his chuckle reverberate through his chest.

“Perish the thought. I’m not sure we’ll have time before we get to the dock, but I’ll give it my best go.” His voice was dry, and it was Phryne’s turn to laugh.

“As much as I appreciate the sentiment, Jack,” she said, lifting her head to look at him, “there’s no need to rush.” She smiled at him, loving the way that his eyes smiled back at her even as his lips barely tilted. “Perhaps you can stay tonight, after the party?”

“I would like that, very much,” he said softly. “If you’re certain that you want me to stay.”

Phryne was quiet for a moment, searching for a way to say what she felt.

“I wish I had your grasp of Shakespeare, Jack—I’m sure that he has said it much better than I ever could.” She looked at his serious face and felt her heart squeeze within her chest. “But I have no doubt that this is the beginning of something wonderful. I hope that you don’t doubt it either.”

He smoothed her hair back from her cheek. “Please forgive my asking again. It’s just that while I have no doubt that you are the one for me—” his smile was small, but it was there “—I sometimes have trouble believing that you’ve chosen me in turn.”

In answer, Phryne reached up to kiss him. “Shall I prove it to you again?” She smiled against his mouth. He chuckled and kissed her back, his laughter sweet on her tongue. In a moment, they were both serious, their kisses deepening. Phryne could feel the arousal rising within her again, when they broke apart at a sharp knock at the stateroom door.

“Ten minutes until docking begins, miss,” the porter called.

Panting, Phryne lifted her head, looking down at Jack. She could feel him hardening within her, and she wanted to weep at the knowledge that they wouldn’t be able to finish what they’d started until later.

“We’d better get dressed. They’ll be back to get our luggage when we dock.”

“Hold that thought, then, Miss Fisher,” he responded. “And you can prove it to me tonight.” He rolled, kissing her as he gently disengaged his body from hers and rose at the side of the bed. “Stay there—I’ll get us a towel to clean up with.”

He strode into the small private bath and she heard the water running. A few moments later, he returned with a damp cloth. He smiled as he sat beside her to help her clean up, wiping the sweat from her skin and his own fluids from her thighs. Phryne marveled at him as he worked. She had never had a lover who would even have considered such an action.

When he finished, Phryne took his face in both of hers and kissed him again, lightly, knowing that the softness of her feelings must be visible on her face. She rested her forehead against his, absurdly pleased with how he allowed the intimacy.

“Jack,” she said, loving the sound of his name on her lips. “There is a Shakespeare quote that fits here. It’s from Hamlet: _Doubt that the stars are fire, Doubt that the sun doth move, Doubt truth to be a liar_ …” she stopped, her throat closing on the last line, though she knew that Jack would be able to fill it in: _But never doubt I love._

Jack’s voice, when he responded, was gravelly. “Generally, I wouldn’t want to take advice from the Dane, but in this case…”

Phryne laughed and kissed him again, hard. “Let’s go, Jack. We have things to do before we can pick up where we left off.”

“So we do, Miss Fisher,” he said, and his smile was freer than she’d ever seen it. “Let’s go home.”

 


End file.
